


A Midsummer Night's Team

by mific



Category: Shakespeare - Fandom, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Digital Art, Fanfiction, Humor, M/M, SGA, Shakespeare, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 01:13:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where they're fairies, except Rodney who's an ass (sorry Rodney).</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Midsummer Night's Team

 

“How came these things to pass?”

He wakes to a beautiful woman bending over him, frowning, her delicate face concerned. He tries not to stare at her golden breasts, barely concealed in a tight-fitting tunic made of woven green leather, or perhaps vines. He pushes up on his elbows, groggy, his head heavy, and looks down at himself: a stocky frame, broad chest tapering to narrower hips in jeans and a familiar _Obey Gravity, it’s the Law_ t-shirt.

“Who?- Where?-” he tries to say, but his voice is strange, harsh and braying, his mouth struggling to form words. He puts a hand up to his face and touches soft fur, a long gray-furred animal nose down which he stares, desperately cross-eyed. His heart rate soars and his voice becomes high-pitched, whinnying. “My face!” He feels himself frantically. “My head, where’s my-fuck, are those EARS? This is to make an ass of me! Wait, what? Why am I talking like that? And I have an ass-head?”

“Calm yourself.”

The green-clad woman puts her small hand on his muzzle. He brays softly, trembling, as she strokes his nose. All eighteen inches of his nose.

“I am Titeylia, Queen of Faerie.”

“Oh, please, I stopped believing in fairies and Santa when I was five and started reading Newton’s _Principia_.” He grabs her wrist. “What the fuck’s going on? Hnnf! Umf!”

“Put him down, Oberonon. This instant!”

Titeylia is glaring up at whatever monster has him in a headlock, his feet kicking helplessly in mid-air. She’s certainly feisty.

“Oberonon! NOW, or I will forswear your bed and company.” Titeylia looks briefly puzzled at the words coming out of her mouth, then shrugs and crosses her arms, frowning.

His captor - Oberonon? - obeys and he’s set back on his feet. He skitters away, rubbing his throat (furry, oh my god, _furry_) and glares at the seven foot, golden-skinned Adonis looming possessively over Titeylia, cracking his knuckles. The giant is also dressed in “earth” colors - russet-brown leather, or possibly a patchwork of autumn leaves.

“And I suppose you’re the _King_ of Faerie,” he sneers, trying to stand upright and balance his ridiculous head and protruding nose. His large eyes roll wildly from Titeylia to Oberonon, and around the clearing where they’re standing: forest, with a dense undergrowth of shrubs and ferns. It looks strangely familiar.

“Yeah, wanna make something of it?” says Oberonon.

“Jesus wept,” he brays, trying to get his too-long, mobile lips not to blow raspberries with every plosive. “The universe seeks to fright me! Damn it, why do I keep sounding like a bad Elizabethan pastiche!” He takes some deep breaths, trying to calm himself, but the sound of air whistling through his huge moist nostrils is scant comfort. Ruthlessly shoving aside the whole ass-head issue, he puts his hands on his hips, his chin, even in this form, tipping up defiantly. “So if you’re the King and Queen of the fairies, who am I then?”

“You are Bottom,” says Titeylia.

“Hey! I’ll have you know I’m versatile. Just because I _prefer_ to-”

“No - that is your _name_,” says Titeylia, looking a little exasperated. Oberonon snorts and smirks.

“My name? You’ve got fancy titles and I get to be called _BOTTOM_? Who’s responsible for this mess, anyway?”

~~o0o~~

“Yeah, and ain’t _that_ the 64,000 dollar question,” drawls a voice from up in the trees somewhere.

Bottom looks up and promptly crashes back into the ferns, overbalanced by his long nose and ears. “Shit!” He gives up and lies there, peering up into the branches. A ridiculously slender and somewhat androgynous-looking guy is perched on a branch about twelve feet above the ground. He’s naked except for something black that cloaks his hips and upper thighs - a loincloth? Feathers? There’s a black torc around his right wrist. His ears are pointed and his wild black hair is completely fey. Bottom wants him so much he can hardly breathe.

“Puck,” says Oberonon with an undertone of menace. “Good of you to drop by. I’ve only been calling you for the past hour.”

Puck smiles insolently and drops in a sinuous movement to dangle from one golden-skinned arm. He sketches a loose salute with his other hand. “Yo, Captain of our fairy band, well met and all that. Yeah, well, I was flying and you know me, I’ve never been good at following orders.” He lets go and floats lightly to the ground, where he seems to hover just above the grass.

Bottom gazes at him, open-mouthed; so much for his t-shirt logo. “How did you?- You’re breaking about twenty laws of physics!”

Puck smirks some more: “Never really been one for rules or laws either.”

There’s a flash of movement and he’s standing astride Bottom, grinning down. Bottom stares up at two rather hairy golden legs that vanish into the black (feathers?) covering Puck’s groin. Bottom’s mouth has gone dry and his jeans are tight in the crotch.  

A long-fingered hand reaches down and pulls him to his feet. “Whoa there. Up you come, Buddy.”

Buddy, now that’s a better name. He tries to smile winningly at Puck, but who knows what his donkey mouth is doing? Probably a toothy grin. He fights down a bray and bats his eyes - at least he has gorgeous long lashes. He thinks he’s in love.

Oberonon glares at Puck and gestures fiercely behind Titeylia’s back at her then at Bottom. “You were supposed to…with the herb-juice?”

“Yeah, but then again, no,” Puck drawls, sliding an arm around Bottom’s shoulders.

Bottom rolls a startled eye sideways, ears twitching expressively. He leans in.

“Change of plan with the old bewitchment there,” says Puck. “Took a bit of a fancy to him myself and take it from me, he’s not so much into chicks these days.”

“_Chicks?_” says Titeylia dangerously. She whirls on Oberonon too fast to see and suddenly, magically, there are staves in her hands. Oberonon backs away, hands stretched out before him.

“Uh, wait, I can explain, honest. Just a little flower-charm to turn you on to old assface there for a joke. You _were_ kinda mean to me, you know…”

“_Bewitchment?”_ Titeylia’s looking pretty scary now, circling Oberonon, staves raised.

Bottom tries to back into the ferns and Puck pulls him behind a tree, nuzzling the soft fur below his ear. He whinnies quietly, ears flattening against his neck as he trembles against Puck’s lithe body.

“S’okay Buddy, I’ve got you, don’t worry about them, they do this all the time. Marital bliss, huh?” Puck strokes his muzzle. “Wanna come flying with me?”

~~o0o~~

There are strong arms around him and he clings tightly to Puck as they flash through the trees in dizzying swoops and spirals. Puck is laughing, wild, yelling “I go, I go, look how I go,” and boasting about being swifter than an arrow.

Bottom closes his eyes and tries not to throw up. Jeez, why did he have to fall for an insane speed-freak? His blood sugar’s probably low; he can’t remember when he last ate anything. Finally Puck sets him down in a glade beside a pond. Bottom staggers and falls.

“Hey Buddy, sorry, I got carried away, forgot you’re not used to flying. You okay?”

“Hypoglycemic, need to eat something,” Bottom moans, on his hands and knees in the grass and wildflowers. Great, probably forty types of pollen here, he’ll be a sneezing wreck in no time. And his sinuses are about two feet long now so that’s going to be a _complete_ nightmare.

“Oh right, forgot you were human there. Mostly. Me, I get by on fresh air and sunlight, a little ale sometimes.” He snaps his fingers and a white linen cloth appears, laden with cake and sugared fruits, bread and cheese and a flask of golden liquor. “Tuck in.”

“Is there any citrus in there?” Bottom says fretfully. “Because I’m very seriously allergic to citrus.”

Puck rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers again. Some of the candied fruit vanishes. “Citrus-free zone now Buddy, rip into it.”

In the end Puck hand-feeds him because his spatial orientation is off with the weird muzzle, the long tongue and teeth. After jamming chocolate frosting up one nostril he gives up and lies back as Puck drops delicious morsels into his mouth, whispering something about feeding him with apricocks and dewberries, green figs and mulberries.

“Yeah, fine,” Bottom agrees, humming with pleasure and wrapping his mobile lips around some dangling grapes. “Just no citrus.”

They share the mead, Bottom growing warm and loose in the sun-dappled glade, head pillowed in Puck’s lap. He whinnies softly as Puck strokes his sensitive ears and scratches the fur under his jaw. Puck presses him back into the grass and slides down, kissing the pale skin of his belly where his t-shirt’s ridden up. Bottom arches back, shivering, as the shirt’s pulled off over his (not thinking about it) head and Puck fastens on his nipples, licking and sucking. His hips buck.

They _are_ feathers. Soft and black, trailing down from his navel and curling around Puck’s cock as Bottom strokes his fingers across the flared head and down the shaft. Puck presses up into his touch, eyes closed and biting his lip. He strips Bottom of jeans and boxers and wriggles out of his grip, ignoring Bottom’s protests as he slides further down between his legs. Bottom pushes up onto his elbows, white around his eyes and quivering ears cocked forward as Puck’s lips close on his cock, mouthing the head and sucking softly.

“Fuck…” whimpers Bottom, “Oh fuck, oh fuck.” His stupid lips slur the fricative so it comes out pfuck.

“Yeah, say my name,” moans Puck around his dick and Bottom falls back into the grass, hips thrusting helplessly up into that hot, vibrating mouth, unable to manage even an eye-roll as Puck swallows him down and makes galaxies explode behind his eyes.

He catches his breath, gasping while Puck licks the sweat from his belly and rubs his hard cock against Bottom’s leg. Then he’s being rolled, warm and boneless, face down in the fragrant, crushed grass as Puck slicks him with cream from the last of the cake and opens him, pushing his legs apart and sliding those long fingers deep inside.

“Bottom, Buddy, such a great name for you, such a fine ass,” and Puck’s kissing his nether cheeks, tormenting him with teeth and tongue until all he can do is moan and whinny, writhing and letting the dumb jokes drift off on the breeze as Puck slides inside and works his magic. Pleasure, and heat, and he’s so full, so wanting, on his knees and hard again as Puck thrusts up into him, sucking and biting on the fur at the nape of Bottom’s neck as he puts back his head and brays, coming with Puck’s hot hand slick on his cock, Puck’s body shuddering as he makes them both fly.

~~o0o~~

Oberonon and Titeylia find them hours later, curled in a drowsy tangle of limbs in the long grass as shadows lengthen. Bottom flushes and scrambles to haul on his clothes, eyeing the royals fearfully, but they seem to have reconciled, touches and soft looks speaking of leisurely make-up sex.

“So, you figured out where we are yet?” Oberonon looks restlessly around the clearing, staring into the gloom under the trees. “And don’t tell me Faerie ’cause something’s not right here.”

“I, too, can feel it,” Titeylia confides. “I know I am leader of my people, but perhaps in another realm? This place has a dream-like quality to it.”

“Yeah,” mutters Puck, scrubbing a hand through his already feral hair. “Know what you mean. I can’t remember anything before today. What about you, Buddy?”

Bottom frowns, struggling to make sense of this place, his companions. He wonders if the donkey brain is muddling his thinking, narrowing his focus to creature comforts: Puck’s mouth and sleep and chocolate. It’s familiar but not quite right. He can be more; he has been more. “It’s strange that we’re not more freaked out, don’t you think? Well, that _I’m_ not completely freaked out, anyway, since I’m the one with the goddam _fur_ and _ears_. So maybe it’s an enchantment? A glamour to trap us in an unreal realm?”

“Maybe, but it’s weirdly familiar, the fairy stuff. Even this, you being an ass.” Puck ruffles the fur between his ears fondly and Bottom shivers. Yes, he’s heard about something like that, sometime, somewhere. Fairies, and an ass’s head. Read about it?

Titeylia sighs. “Aspects of this world are familiar to me, but not this talk of fairies. Something tells me I am Queen of Faerie and Oberonon is King, but I know little else, and nothing of a man with the head of an animal. I do not even recognise the species, yet somehow I know it is called an ass. Yet I feel that I know you all, subtly altered, that I knew you. It is most disconcerting.”

Oberonon grunts. “Had some sort of flashback ’bout sitting on a promontory, lookin’ at the ocean. No ocean here though." He peers about, taut, slapping his leg with a sword he’s unsheathed from the scabbard between his shoulder blades. “An’ I think I know you guys from somewhere, but the rest of it’s pretty strange." He grins and smacks Bottom lightly on the back of the head. “Reckon you’ve always been an ass though.”

Bottom huffs in irritation. “Stop that, you moron. Okay, so maybe it’s a, a magical force-field that’s messing with our minds somehow, even with how we speak. Shit, I can’t even think properly. I try to remember physics, to reason it out scientifically, but something keeps translating it all into fairies and magic and fucking voodoo! I hate this.” Except for the part with Puck, that bit he wants to keep.

Puck looks up at the sky. “Well, the light’s fading so we’re not gonna solve this today. I’ll do a quick reconnaissance, fly up clear of the forest and see what I can see.”

“Don’t go far!” pleads Bottom anxiously, gripping Puck’s arm. “Don’t go flitting off and get lost out there, we, we have to stick together.” I can’t lose you, he doesn’t say.

“S’okay Buddy, I won’t be long. Oberonon here will look after you.”

“And I, also,” promises Titeylia.

~~o0o~~

The forest stretches unbroken, almost as far as Puck’s sharp eyes can see, he reports, flashing back to the clearing, exhilarated, drunk with flight.

“But there’s something to the west, toward the setting sun; I could see it outlined. A big circular thing, like a ring. Hard to judge distance with the endless trees but we’d never get there tonight, before dark. Take us a few hours of travel so we’ll have to camp here and go tomorrow. That’s if you think we should. Go there.”

“I don’t see any other options,” agrees Bottom, the tips of his ears drooping. “And I think it may be important - a ring? It must have been very large if you could see it from here?”

“Yeah, guess so. I think, yeah, there’s something I remember - a fairy ring? Something?” Puck furrows his brow, and Bottom wants to smooth it with his thumb.

“I also remember a tale about a ring. The ‘Ring of the Fairies’?” Titeylia bites her lip. “No, that is not correct.”

“Dunno,” says Oberonon. “Doesn’t sound right to me but there’s nothing we can do until tomorrow. We’ve gotta make camp and set watch. Could be anything out there.” He glares at the darkening forest as though he has a personal grudge against every tree.

~~o0o~~

They gather wood and Oberonon lights a fire with a flick of his hand. It’s not cold but the trees loom black around them and the fire is a comfort against the vastness of the forest and the unknown.

Whatever this force-field is, Bottom thinks, it’s not just affecting their minds. It’s altering the physical world as well, somehow. Puck’s defiance of gravity, the fire-starting, and the food was real or he’d be seriously hypoglycemic by now. It troubles and excites him, but the more he worries at it, the more his thoughts slide off into nonsense about charms and summonings.

Puck magics food and drink for them all. The fairies probably don’t need to eat but they join Bottom anyway, to be companionable. No mead this time, they want to keep their wits about them on watch.

The warm summer night, the fire’s intimacy and a shared meal all help to some degree. After a while Oberonon props himself quietly against a tree bole to take first watch and the others curl up near the fading embers.

Faint starlight outlines his companions as Bottom gazes up at the (wrong) stars glimmering above. His overactive brain won’t shut down and he worries about sleeping rough. Anything could be creeping up on them: spotted snakes with double tongue, thorny hedgehogs, newts and blind-worms, long-legg'd spiders, beetles black. Hell, the force-field’s fucking with his head again. He whimpers, clenching his fists.

Puck’s there in a flash, pressed warm against him, and Bottom realises he’s been hyperventilating, rolling his eyes and snorting in panic.

“God shield us!” he mutters, clutching at Puck, which is stupid as he stopped believing in a god around the same time he lost his faith in fairies and Santa.

“Easy there, Buddy,” Puck whispers. “Dunno about God, but I’ll shield you. Go to sleep. Long way to go tomorrow.”

“It’s nothing but trees,” Bottom moans. “We’ll get lost.”

“Nah, I can fly up and check we’re still on track. Hell I could fly there and check the Ring out. I’m fast - I'll put a girdle round the earth in forty minutes.”

“No!” Bottom’s vehement. "You stay with us, don’t leave us behind. No stupid damn heroics, you hear me? Who knows what that thing is, it could be a trap.”

Puck kisses the soft gray fur between his ears. “I won’t leave you behind, Buddy, I’d never do that.”

They can’t fuck, not with Titeylia and Oberonon so close by, but Puck spoons behind him, pressing his hard-on close against Bottom and cradling the swelling in his jeans in the cup of his hand. He breathes softly against Bottom’s neck until sleep takes them both.

~~o0o~~

“At least now you’ve got an excuse for snoring like a donkey,” teases Puck in the soft light of early morning, splashing him.

It’s close and sticky, and Puck’s cajoled Bottom out of most of his clothes and into the pond for a swim, despite dark mutterings about possible newts and blind-worms. They fool about, pulling each other under, both braying with laughter.

“I thought _I_ was the ass in this world,” snorts Bottom. “But clearly you were a close contender for the part.”

Puck lounges smirking on the bank. “You reckon these are parts, like in a play or a movie? Hey - maybe this is a holodeck!”

Bottom whinnies in disdain, shaking a spray of water droplets from his fur to a chorus of protests. “I don’t even know what a holodeck is but I’m certain you’re wrong. It’s more complex than that.”

They breakfast on bread and fruit, then Puck flies up to check on the Ring again and leads them due west. After an hour, Bottom stops, bent over with hands on knees, to catch his breath. A thought occurs. “Oh wait!” He straightens up sharply and nearly falls over again.

Puck grabs his arm. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m an idiot. This head’s an idiot, anyway. Well, obviously. But I thought, maybe we don’t need to walk? Puck can fly, so what about the rest of you? Maybe all fairies can fly!”

“Nah,” says Oberonon. “Tried that when I saw him doing it; looked like a blast. No dice.”

Titeylia nods. “I have tried also, but to no avail.”

Bottom’s ears droop. “Crap. Well, maybe you’ve got other cool superpowers, like, I mean, running really fast, or, or X-ray vision.”

Titeylia frowns. “I do not know what this X-ray vision is, but we ran for some distance yesterday, to locate you and Puck. I do not think our speed was excessive, and we tired after a while and were forced to rest. I am afraid that if we were carrying you we would tire faster.”

Bottom slumps down onto the grass. “Okay, I get the message. No shortcuts. Can you rustle up some water, at least?”

Titeylia obliges, and after a short rest they press on, guided by Puck’s intermittent vertical forays through the canopy.

When the sun is high they stop for lunch at the edge of a wide meadow filled with flowers. The usual sumptuous repast is conjured which Bottom thinks is actually pretty cool, possibly better than X-ray vision, especially when a click of Titeylia’s fingers solves the washing up problem. They lie about in the shade of a spreading tree, napping and waiting for the heat of the day to abate.

After a while, Bottom wanders off, exploring the vicinity. He’s feeling mellow despite the long trek, and plucks a bunch of wildflowers, presenting them to Titeylia as she rouses, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Thank you, Bottom,” she says gravely, while Oberonon glowers and Puck rolls his eyes, grinning. Titeylia buries her nose in the flowers, then sneezes.

Damn, she’s probably allergic as well, Bottom thinks. He crouches down beside her, flapping a little. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t think, probably a bad idea if you’re anything like as allergic as I am. Although I have to say I haven’t been troubled so far, but that’s not to say you won’t – I mean everyone’s different, with allergies. If fairies _get_ allergies that is. Do they?”

Titeylia is staring at him, her mouth open, eyes wide. Hell, is she going into anaphylactic shock? He needs an EpiPen but there’s nothing in his pockets, he checked. Trying not to panic at that thought (but what if a bee?!) he checks Titeylia’s pulse at her wrist. It does seem rather rapid, but he’s startled when her hand twines with his, and she leans in and rubs her cheek against his long nose.

“O, how I love thee! how I dote on thee!” She’s kissing his muzzle now; this is disturbing.

“Er, Titeylia, um, no, I think not. Er, guys? Can you help me here?” Titeylia pulls him sharply down, surprisingly strong, and pins him underneath her in a polished wrestling move, kissing his gray-furred throat and nuzzling his ears. Bottom splutters. “Guys! A little assistance here, she’s gone berserk!”

“What hast thou done?” With a snarl, Titeylia’s pulled away by a murderously glaring Oberonon. She struggles in his grip, looking longingly back at Bottom.

Puck is just laughing that annoying braying laugh, dangling the wildflower posie at arm’s length. “Poetic justice Obie – this is full of love-in-idleness, that flower you wanted me to charm her with. She’ll be stuck on Bottom here ’til it wears off or we figure out how to uncharm her.”

“What?” Bottom scrambles to his feet. “She’s, she’s under a spell? Oh my _god_, it’s _sex_ pollen! Get it away from me, you lunatic!”

~~o0o~~

Puck disposes of the offending bunch of flowers and they leave the meadow for the relative safety of the trees, but the damage is done. Titeylia has to be restrained by Oberonon or else she’s plastered to Bottom with her hands down his pants and up under his t-shirt, moaning embarrassing things about wanting to kiss his “fair large ears” and calling him her “gentle joy”. The joint effects of sex pollen and the magical force-field have completely divorced her from reality, and she’s constantly on about his “amiable cheeks” and his “sleek smooth head”, trying to wriggle out of Oberonon’s grasp so as to fondle him while Puck grins and teases him and Oberonon shoots him dark looks promising painful retribution.

“This is _so_ not my fault,” Bottom complains, trudging along behind Oberonon through the trees as Titeylia, slung over Oberonon’s shoulder, makes kissy-faces at him upside down and conjures showers of rose petals and tiny tweeting bluebirds around him. It’s like trekking through a Valentine’s Day card.

They rest again under a huge conifer, Puck reassuring them that they’re almost there, just another hour’s walk to the Ring. Tired as he is from the long day’s journey, Bottom can’t focus on having a good panic about what will happen when they get there. There’s too much going on, with Titeylia going “What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love?” and materialising an irritating floating harp that circles around him, endlessly playing “Oh Canada”. Then she's offering him honeydew, or to fetch him “the squirrel's hoard”, by which she means nuts.

“Oh great, way to kill me off with an agonising anaphylactic reaction, I think _not_.” He huffs and rolls the whites of his eyes at her until Puck cuddles up and soothes him, causing Titeylia to lose it completely and make the bluebirds mob Puck so that he takes to the sky to escape them.

They give up on taking a break and trek on, finally reaching a wide, grassy expanse in which stands the giant Ring. Puck is sitting on the steps leading up to it, and there’s a rounded plinth a few yards away with strange symbols in a double circle around the circumference, mirroring those on the Ring. Bottom can’t shake the feeling that it’s important, but none of them can read the script, or runes, or whatever the damn things are. Oberonon and Puck try some random spells, which variously manage to decorate the ring with daisy chains, to fill the grassy meadow with the sound of a brass band, and to deluge them with a brief but torrential, localised rainstorm. Titeylia’s bluebirds fly to and fro through the Ring, which is cute but unproductive. Oberonon takes her off a little way to try various un-bewitching charms.

Bottom slumps in a damp, despondent heap on the steps of the Ring. “I feel that I should have a device to make all well, or know how to make one, or something,” he confides to Puck. “I think that I’m usually quite good with my hands.”

Puck arches a brow at him, looking lascivious. “Yeah, I can vouch for that. Wanna go back in the woods and test it out some more?”

“Stop it!” Bottom flicks his pointy ear. “Try to be serious here, for one second, Mr Flighty. We’re marooned!”

Puck shrugs and pulls him up. “C’mon then, Buddy, let’s take another look at the mushroom thingy.”

They stare at the rounded plinth and Puck runs his hand across the stepped surface and pokes at it. One of the runes lights up, with a corresponding loud clunk and glowing symbols activating on the Ring.

“Whoa!” Puck tries another one, then another. Finally he’s tried them all including the big center button, and the Ring has been clunking and glowing like crazy, but that’s all. Oberonon has come running back, carrying Titeylia, but none of them can figure it out.

“Stop, stop, it’s not working and you’ll break it, with our luck.” Bottom pulls Puck away. “It reminds me of something, like those old rotary-dial telephones. Maybe there’s a code we need, like a phone number to dial?”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” says Puck. “You know how many different combinations all these symbols could make?”

“No,” says Bottom, feeling that he _should_ know, or be able to calculate it. Maybe if he weren’t a damn donkey. “But way too many for us to luck into it, that’s for sure.” He paces about, feeling like his stupid furry head’s going to explode. “Wait, what if…”

“Yeah?” Puck’s looking hopeful, and Oberonon. Titeylia’s just looking sappy and batting her eyelids. God, the pressure, they’re all relying on him to come up with something.

“Um, look. This is a wild idea and it probably won’t work, but if this is a dialling device, then maybe if we just let our ‘fingers do the walking’, our procedural memory will get it right. To dial the code for home, that is.” They stare back at him and his ears droop. “No, okay, dumb plan.”

~~o0o~~

It works. Bottom himself dials a sequence that triggers the Ring, and thank fuck they’re all clustered around the damn plinth when a scary burst of raw energy whooshes out, then stabilises into a blue, shimmering circle.

He experiments by chucking tree branches through while Puck watches from the side.

“They vanished!” Puck calls. “They went _somewhere_.”

“Yeah, or were instantly vaporised,” mutters Bottom pessimistically. “It’s far too risky to just walk into that – whatever it is. But wait – maybe we could send a message through?”

So they carve an S.O.S. on a flat piece of bark and throw it into the blue. Minutes later a strange mechanical tea-trolley emerges from the Ring and swivels its lenses at them, then an amplified voice tells them to “come on through, AR-1, the shield’s down”.

It takes the last of Bottom’s courage to walk into the liquid blue disc, but Puck rubs his ears to calm him and holds his hand as they step into the unknown.

Seconds later they’re holding hands, blinking, in the Gateroom. Puck, or John as Rodney now knows him, is dressed in BDUs and tac-vest, not feathers. So are Rodney and Teyla, and Teyla’s no longer crazed with love for him, so maybe it wasn’t sex-pollen after all. Ronon’s still in leathers of course, with his sword. His pulse pistol’s back on his hip.

Rodney drops John’s hand and clutches his head. His real, human, balding, lovely head. “Oh thank god!” he says, grabbing his short, pointy nose. John cuffs the back of his head, grinning at his relief.

On the way to the infirmary, Rodney pulls the team into a huddle. “You have to promise to keep the donkey-head thing quiet. I can’t cope with a lifetime of asshead jokes from Zelenka and the marines, so _please_, _please_…”

“For a price, McKay,” Ronon grins. “No stealing my puddings ever again, right?”

Rodney grits his teeth. “Yeah, okay.” Ronon drives a hard bargain, but it’s worth it.

Teyla reassures him: “I would not dream of mentioning it to anyone, Rodney,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “As long as you do not mention my lovesick behavior.”

“It’s a deal.” They touch foreheads.

John smirks. “So what do _I_ get out of this particular ‘don’t tell’ deal?”

“I’m sure we can come to some arrangement, Colonel.” Rodney looks up through his lashes. “I am, as we mentioned, rather good with my hands.”

“Yeah, okay,” says John, his eyes darkening, voice suddenly husky.

~~o0o~~

It’s never clear quite what affected them – theories range from a sentient planet like Solaris, to a buried Ancient machine that sucked fragmentary memories of high school Shakespeare from John and Rodney’s minds. They decide that M9X-662 (or Dreamworld, as Rodney insists on calling it, even though John complains that there was a distinct lack of Ferris wheels or other fun rides) is too dangerous, with its reality-distorting properties. It’s placed off-limits for all future travel.

Rodney never lives down having had the head of a donkey. His clever hands keep John from spilling the beans but do nothing to stop the _asinine_ private jokes when it’s just the team, or when they’re alone. It’s a sure-fire way to get him huffy and pink-cheeked.

John misses Rodney’s expressive ears; he liked stroking them. He knows they can’t risk returning to M9X-662, but sometimes he lies awake beside Rodney, holding him as he makes snorting, braying noises in his sleep, and remembers being Puck.

He remembers being weightless and free, soaring high above the forest and darting through the trees. He remembers flying.

~~o0o~~


End file.
